


Candle in the Dark

by lakeghost



Series: Word of the Fates [1]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dreams, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Prophecy, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, fangst, vampirism based angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:17:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeghost/pseuds/lakeghost
Summary: I see your Hades/Persephone AU and raise you one Eros/PsycheShow universe + a few mythical additions.





	1. Warming Up

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't quite the being human fic i set out to write, but here we are i guess

The dark Belmont had always known he was cursed. Correction: he had always been _told_ he was cursed; he didn’t start believing it until his family home was burnt to the ground and any semblance of a legacy he might have inherited was thoroughly ground into the dirt. Generations before the fiasco with the Church, elder Speakers had traded prophecy for protection. Among them, a warning that a Belmont son bearing striking resemblance to Trevor would be lost to one of the monsters they hunted. This alone wasn’t unusual – most of his kin eventually met their end at the hands of demons, vampires, and wraiths. But there was more to their foretelling, a sickening twist that was as dishonorable as it was despairing: he was to be seduced by this creature before he met his end. He wouldn’t die valiantly in battle, protecting his countrymen – he would _love_ this creature, cherish its poisonous words, betray not only his name but his species. Maybe it would kill him, devour his body after it took his soul, or maybe it would leave the boy’s mind to rot and drive him mad, that all was left up to interpretation. Whether or not any one person believed it was true, they accepted his was a marked man – doomed to a fate wherein his own mind betrayed him. Fortunately, things like family curses become much more trivial when you’re the only one left. Everything tied to his family, his calling, became much more trivial, intangible and forgettable like so much smoke.

 

***

 

The storm beat on relentlessly, soaking every layer of Trevor’s clothing until his coat hung like lead weights around him. Despite the late spring warmth, the thin air of the mountains only leeched heat away from the drenched hunter. In a futile effort, Trevor pulled his coat tighter around his frame as he crested the ridge.

He wasn’t surprised to see the hulking castle below him, with its turrets and spires spilling over the cliffs edge toward the sea, but rather felt his heart sink lower with the realization he would never be able to talk his way into passing the night within its walls. _Water, water everywhere…._

It had been three days of hard travel since the village on the other side of the mountain. There had been a series of particularly violent animal attacks recently, and word had travelled. The hunter figured there wasn’t any harm in taking a look. Besides, he had already overstayed his welcome in Gresit. Thunder growled low in the west and the rain pelted down with renewed fervor - Trevor groaned in response. _“No harm” my ass_ , he thought to himself _. I could be warm and dry and drunk somewhere, but I just_ had _to go find the monster’s lair_. He was physically exhausted, and desperate for shelter. The townspeople were convinced their “werewolf” (it was a wild boar with a broken tusk, Trevor was sure of it) was lurking in a cave off the coast, the coast they claimed was a two day walk. So he wasn’t surprised when the “moving castle” they warned him of was filling the valley. Apparently, this was one of its favorite spots, and the villagers assured him that the ghost living there generally kept to themselves, so he shouldn’t worry. Their superstition was quaint and endearing, until it wasn’t.

He had begun to shiver several hours ago, and nearly bit his tongue off as his teeth rattled in his skull. He couldn’t face an enemy in this condition – let alone the master of a castle, ghost or not – so he soldiered on, determined to find some cover where he could ride out the storm.

Trevor attempted to descend the mountain in the pitch black with little success. At random intervals the sky would split open with a loud crack and the castle in the valley was illuminated like a clawed hand. Not for the first time, the hunter found himself cursing the Fates and their cruel sense of humor. If he stopped moving, he would succumb to the elements. If he kept the path, he would surely injure himself. And if by some accidental miracle he pulled out of this alive, he was still up against his shameful destiny.

Focusing back on the present situation, he worked to keep his hands out in front of his body, trying to feel out a crevice that could serve as some kind of reprieve. His fingers were numb and clumsy against the slick rock, and when he stumbled on some scrub-brush underfoot he knew immediately his situation had gone from unpleasant to dire.

The man flailed for a handhold as he fell, tumbling in a mess of limbs and soaking furs until he came to a halt at a plateau in the path. A jolting pain ran through his leg, reminding Trevor he was still alive for the time being. He looked up to judge his location, but his vision was obscured by the dark and water running into his eyes. As an exercise to keep conscious, he ran through his options: perhaps he could signal the village with a fire (ridiculous), or crawl down the high ridge and grovel for a space in the stable. Without any sense in his fingers and next to no visibility, Trevor couldn’t assess the severity of his wound. He was already drenched, but the water soaking his right leg seemed impossibly warm – the hunter surmised he was bleeding out. But he was nothing if not stubborn, and the goddamn _rain_ was not going to do in the great(ish) Trevor Belmont.

The man flopped his weight over the tallest rock within reach and dragged his body to standing. Lightning once again split the sky in half. In a final push towards self-preservation, Trevor locked his eyes on the nearest spire of the castle before the afterimage faded. Pushing everything else out of his mind, he gritted his teeth and shifted his weight to take a step. He managed two before he blacked out.

 

***

A heady, almost unpleasant scent of lily overwhelmed Trevor as he opened his eyes to complete darkness.

 _I guess it makes sense that I died_ , the man thought to himself _. I should have known it would be the fucking rain. As if I would ever fall in love with a stupid beast._

As he grumbled to himself about the inaccuracy of Speaker-lore, Trevor tried to get a sense of his form in this afterlife, and groaned as the bone-deep ache through his body hit him. Just as he was trying to decide whether this was hell or purgatory, a metallic clatter echoed through the space, quickly followed by unintelligible swearing.

“Hello?” It sounded like someone knocking into cookware in a distant room. Momentarily, Trevor was relieved to know he had survived the night, likely someone had found him on the grounds and brought him inside. His relief was instantly overshadowed with dread as he understood how vulnerable he was now, blind and immobile in the dark room. He heard no response, verbal or otherwise. He strained to make out the edges of furniture in his surroundings while he felt for a weapon on his person.

“My apologies” a clear voice rang out, mere feet away from the immobile hunter.

In the millisecond it took for the stranger to draw another breath, Trevor’s hand found purchase on one of the small silver knives still holstered to his belt and flung the blade toward the source of the voice. He heard the small gasp as it hit its mark and he readied himself for the next move, the working muscles of his torso and arms ready to spring.

For a beat, nothing happened.

“ _Ouch_ ,” the voice deadpanned.

Trevor didn’t fall for this tactic and kept his guard up. “Who are you? What have you done?” His eyes caught movement to his left and he raised his knife accordingly.

“You can put those away, you know.” The voice was calm and reassuring even as it drew nearer. “I mean you no harm.” Trevor heard the stranger place his knife gently on the table beside him. “If I wanted you dead, I would have left you outside, or at the very least taken away your weapons.”

Trevor listened intently to the featherlight steps moving beside him and heard a rustling of fabric and slight creaking of wood – he was… sitting down? The hazy figure of the outline stalled. “Which was quite impressive by the way – most travelers prioritize tents and raingear over a small armory when packing.”

Slowly, Trevor lowered the knife, relaxed his shoulders slightly. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m Adrian.” He continued before Trevor could press him for more “This is my home. Before you decided to … interject, as it were, I was trying to apologize for keeping you in the dark, in both senses.” Trevor could hear the smile on his voice.

_Does this asshole think he’s funny?_ Trevor kept silent and waited for his captor – host – to go on.

“I’d like to remain anonymous, and this seemed like a sensible approach. I had hoped to be here when you awoke so as not to frighten you.”

“If I can’t see you, how, exactly, can you see me?” Trevor challenged. _There’re plenty of night creatures that can see perfectly in dark_ , he thought.

The stranger – Adrian – replied with a short laugh. “Like I said earlier, I live here. And I’ve lived here long enough to know not to walk into tables or the bed where my guest is recovering.”

“Fair enough. I don’t suppose you’d light us a few candles if I promise not to tell anyone who you really are?”

“Of course not,” the other man replied easily. “But the sun will be up soon enough and I’ll be off, so you can take stock of your quarters. Hopefully the meet your standards – Belmont”

Trevor felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at the precise articulation of his name.

“How in the hell –“

“If you plan to go unrecognized, it may be wise to not wear one’s family crest across one’s chest.”

Even if this bastard couldn’t see his face, Trevor glared in his direction on principle.

“Wait, sunrise? How long have I been laying here?”

“Just the better part of a day. Your wounds were significant. Without my medical knowledge and technical skill, you would surely be dead by now.”

“If you’re expecting me to thank you, you can keep waiting. I was perfectly content to die on that mountain.”

“True though that might be, it doesn’t do well for my reputation to have corpses strewn about the estate.” Trevor almost caught himself smiling at that, then stopped. The other presence held the pause a moment, then continued. “I’ll find you some food and clean clothes. Aside from your most soaked outer layers – that fur is revolting, by the way” Trevor barked a laugh, “I left most of your underclothing on. It took slightly longer to get you stabilized but I figured I would face much harsher retribution than a knife in the shoulder if you thought I had examined your naked body, even if in a purely medical context.”

Trevor grumbled to himself – he appreciated the gesture of goodwill; combined with leaving him his knives, it was clear his host was willing to inconvenience or endanger himself to gain Trevor’s trust.

“I’m, uh, sorry I attacked you. You sound like – shit, I dunno. Is it bleeding much?” It sounded like it stuck deep – either this man was excellent at hiding his wounds or his hearing was mistaken.

“Not at all, it was barely a scratch. I should have known what I was getting myself into.”

Trevor could make out Adrian’s form slightly better now that his eyes had adjusted. As he stood from the chair he noticed an uncanny grace that betrayed practiced movement – something like an agile warrior, or a dancer. His lean form moved away from the bed then stopped to make a final comment.

“Belmont – you are welcome to stay here as you recover, and as movement becomes possible, wander the castle at your leisure, but I cannot overstate the importance of my anonymity. Locked rooms are to remain locked, and you will not seek me out during the day. If you would be more comfortable, I can bring on an abbreviated staff to tend to your needs.” His figure remained still, his shoulders catching the dimmest light seeping through the windows.

“I – okay.”

The man nodded and moved out of Trevor’s sightline. _Good going there, idiot, eloquent as always. Benevolent aristocrat saves your ass, even knowing your family name, and you stab him in the arm? Suave._

Trevor laid himself back down on the pillows and tried to get his brain to shut up. He clearly had a long night ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, I'm assuming Dracula is still alive but instead of, you know, swearing vengeance on humanity, sad dad vlad™ is off wandering the countryside/finding a healthy creative outlet/getting back out there during this whole ordeal.


	2. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and lovely comments! :)

The obnoxious, unrelenting sun was what finally pulled Trevor from sleep. Light broke through the windows at a high angle, flooding the room. Trevor blinked as he tried to remember the previous night. His host had kept his word and left a neatly folded stack of bedsheets, towels, and clothing on one of the plush velvet chairs facing the bed.

The hunter surveyed the room, finally taking in the space. The eastern wall was mostly leaded windows, with glass like mountain water. Trevor barely had time to ogle at the spectacle as he observed the heavy wooden armoire and chest in the room, carved in bas-relief of ancient battles. Layers of tapestries cloaked the walls and explained the comfortable temperature. _Look at me_ , Trevor thought, _one day in a castle and I’m admiring the décor. The chest alone could feed that village for a week._

He pushed himself to a sitting position and assessed his personal damage – just physically, for now. The golden light made the bloodstained tatters of his clothing look even worse. His upper body seemed mostly unscathed, save for peppering of bruises and cuts. His leg, however, was a different story entirely. The limb was tightly strapped to a wooden splint and the angry flesh was swollen, pressed taut against the cloth bindings. Curious, he tugged at the dressing over his calf and was rendered breathless by the sudden pain. Trevor bit his cheek and forcefully unstuck the cloth, jostling the wound again and sending another wave of heat through his body.

A thick ridge of stitching ran from the middle of his shin to the back of his knee. Between the threads, the tender flesh threatened to ooze blood if tampered with. Despite the sharp moments of pain, the leg felt suspiciously numb, almost leaden, weighted in place. Maybe it was the strange-smelling poultice someone had spread over the wound taking effect.

Trevor felt himself getting lightheaded and eased back down. For the time being, it appeared that getting out of bed wasn’t an option. Tired and aching, he closed his eyes and quickly returned to sleep.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the light was low and dusty, and the chair of fresh clothing had been moved nearer, essentially touching the bed. The mound of fabric was joined by a jug of water and ceramic basin, as if to insist he address his hygiene. Trevor took the hint.

 

From his position on the bed, he removed his clothing – if it could even be called clothing anymore – and tossed it into a heap on the floor. He removed as much of the grime as he could, but the (ice cold) water ran gray-brown in the basin before the skin of the rest of his body matched the immaculate shade around his leg wound. Well, he was about as clean as he was before he rolled down a mountain in a rainstorm – good enough.

It took some trial and error to maneuver the short trousers over the splint and onto his body. The provided shirt was entirely too large, draping off his shoulders and billowing out around his waist. Trevor felt ridiculous, dressed like a fair maiden, lounging on silk and fine wool. Still, it was better than freezing to death.

The hunter was no stranger to broken bones – his youth of hard training and bone-headed stunts had seen to that. Thankfully, the bone them had never punctured skin, which unfortunately seemed to be the case now. Any estimation he may have had for recovery time went out the window. He knew enough to worry over the fate of his leg – he had seen wounds like this turn to fever that killed the limb, forcing amputation. Even if he wasn’t living up to his heritage on a daily basis, having both legs was a definite advantage in a bar fight.

All he could do now was wait.

 

***

Time passed in excruciatingly slow increments. Trevor counted the stones in each wall, the threads on his shirt cuff, even his breaths at one point, then quickly resumed identifying discolored patches of mortar when that got a bit too existential.

At some point shortly after sunset, a quick knock landed on the door. Trevor nearly jumped out of his skin but relaxed when a young woman pushed the door open with her shoulder, arms laden with a tray of warm food.

“Evening, sir. Where would you like your dinner?” the woman nodded to the tray in her arms.

Trevor was still processing the logistics of how his host managed to hire a cook in less than a day, and just how many people might be roaming the castle right now. “Uh...”

“How about the table?” She moved into the room without waiting for an answer and took notice of the confused look on Trevor’s face. “Master Adrian said you might be a bit slow, don’t worry.” She offered him a beaming smile.

Trevor came to rights and frowned. _Of course he did, the ass._ He quickly returned the woman’s smile.

“Thanks…” he raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Mina.” Trevor was confused by her demeanor. She was by no means timid, but she seemed stiff in a way that wasn’t just formality. To be fair, he himself was a bit spooked by ‘Master Adrian’, and he has been trained to kill devil-spawn since birth.

“Thank you, Mina. It looks great.” The hunter had almost forgotten how hungry he was until he smelled the roasted meat and well-seasoned potatoes wafting towards him. Frankly, he would happily eat boiled shoe leather at this point.

“If you don’t mind me asking, when did you get here?” As he tried to suss out more about his host, he felt himself reaching for the warm plate.

“Oh my, you did hit your head, didn’t you? Here, let me help with that.” Mina took his plate from him and silverware off the tray, and quickly began cutting the slab of meat into tiny pieces. Trevor rolled his eyes and groaned, gesturing for his dinner back.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not going to forget how to swallow.” He pointedly took a bite of food to make his point. “I meant when you came to the castle, not the room.”

Mina flushed a little but took the misunderstanding in stride. “Sorry, sir. Master Adrian just seemed very worried about your health when he spoke to us.”

Trevor resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded for her to continue, continuing to shovel food into his mouth.

“Well, today is mine and Amalia’s – my sister’s – first day working here. We both were working at the Crossed Arms, but Master Adrian offered a generous stipend if we accepted positions here.” She shrugged, and glanced worryingly at the rapidly vanishing meal before her, probably still worried Trevor was going to choke to death.

He managed to keep his mouth empty long enough to ask: “So is it just you two then? I only met the master of the house once, but I got the idea it was just him and the cobwebs out here.”

“We saw an older woman in the halls earlier, but she didn’t say anything. Ami and I are assigned to the kitchen and can only go between a few rooms. There could be others, I can’t say for sure.” She smiled imploringly, seemingly unsure if she had given the right response.

_Well, at least I’m not the only one._

Mina gathered up his now-empty plate and neglected silverware. She collected the jug and basin and delicately piled the remnants of Trevor’s clothes onto the tray.

“Is there anything else I can get you? Books?”

“Christ no. But if you know where Adrian stowed my weapons, I’d love to give them a nice clean.”

Mina nodded solemnly, a trace of a smile on her face, and turned to leave.

“Oh, wait! Sorry – could you get the bouquet out of here?” He pointed to the overflowing vase on the table beside his head. “It smells like a graveyard in August and it’s kind of driving me crazy.”

Mina broke into a full smile and nodded. “Of course.”

***

Trevor didn’t know what it was that pulled him from sleep, but all at once he found himself bolt upright with a knife pointed at some presence hovering beside his leg.

“Well, well, quite the light sleeper, aren’t we?” Again hidden in the dark, the faceless voice laughed.

“Blame it on survival instincts. Usually people that sneak up on you in the night aren’t just there for a chat.”

“Technically, neither am I. I needed to check on your wound to make sure it’s healing properly.”

“Doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

“If you’d prefer to die of septic shock, I can leave you in the care of the village doctor. I hear he recently acquired some imported leeches.”

“First off, you know I don’t know what you’re talking about, and second of all, I cede that you’re probably my best hope of walking out of here on my own feet. Whatever witchcraft you did seems to be working – the pain is at an ignorable level.”

Trevor felt the hands that had been ghosting over his leg freeze. “Don’t call it that.”

“What?”

“It’s just medicine, nothing more.” The man returned to his work, gently peeling back the dressing to expose the stitches.

“Jeez, sorry – didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.” The silence was very loud as Adrian spread more of the paste over the stitches and cut new linen strips.

“I see you didn’t like the flowers,” Adrian said. His tone was again light, jesting.

“Are you serious? I was getting a headache lying here with half a meadow two inches from my face.”

The voice chuckled. “It was flowers or drying blood, I figured you would prefer the former.” Trevor felt the stranger’s hands delicately press the fresh dressing over the gash, nimbly moving to cut the splint bindings. Trevor held back a gasp when the tension broke and warmth flooded the limb. “It’s swelling more than I expected, but it’s not a terrible concern.”

Still slightly distracted by the sensations in his leg, Trevor replied, “Good to know it’ll be the boredom that will kill me, then.” He heard Adrian stand and rummage through something.

“Are there… other flowers you would like better?” His voice was quiet and slightly muffled, like he was facing half-away or covering his mouth.

Trevor thought about his response a moment, but his host seemed to take his hesitation as something else.

“Never mind, I don’t know what I’m saying,” the man said hurriedly. Trevor heard him set something down firmly on the table beside him. “You need to drink half of this in the morning, and the rest before tomorrow night.”

Trevor bit his tongue and said nothing about the implications of this strange potion delivered in the dead of night.

“Do I want to ask what it is?” Trevor could see the shoulders of the silhouette shake slightly in a laughter.

“I don’t think it’ll make much difference either way; It’s a particular fungus – mushroom – called acremonium. I usually grows –“

“Shh, okay. Special plant make better, eat plant make leg good.” He could memorize the most extensive bestiary ever compiled, identify every blade and bludgeon in the largest armory, but bring in plants and Trevor knew he was an idiot.

“Technically, acremonium is not a plant. It’s quite the misconception, really, but fungi are wholly distinct from their leafed brethren.”

“I swear to God, if you keep talking, I will stab you again.”

“Point taken.”

In the moments between barbs, Trevor felt himself more at ease than he had been since, well, since a lot of things. Their conversation was like a river – an ongoing, turbulent flow going … somewhere.

Trevor rolled his head to face the form now standing by the door. Distant light from the braziers in the hall illuminated fractions of his host. He could make out the shape of long, soft-looking hair falling over his shoulders, and a sharp brow. Trevor didn’t want to give up his view, and spoke to keep the man in the doorway. “Thank you, for this.”

Adrian bowed his head and moved into a darker shadow. “How could I leave you to die?”

“Some would see it as nature taking its course. I mean it, thank you. Not a lot of people would go so out of their way to help someone like me like this.” Satisfied with his little speech, Trevor rolled fully onto his back and prepared for a witty quip.

Adrian didn’t say anything more, closing the door as he left the room.

 

***

Healing was slow and arduous, as predicted. Days ran into each other as he lost sense of time. Trevor wanted to complain about his captivity, but if he was honest with himself, he likely would have been lost in a similar stupor, potentially vomiting in a gutter, if he wasn’t bedbound. As least here he was comfortable, almost obscenely so, with people to tend to his every desire if he asked.

He got to know the two other servants – Lavinia and Andrei – who had similar stories to Mina and her sister. Both peasant-folk from the village, presented with an offer they would be loath to refuse. Andrei in particular seemed a bit hazy on the details – he had a large family back in the village, but could only remember bits and pieces of what he told them before he left.

Adrian kept to himself and never called on any of them, so there was rarely much work to do. Thus, the chatting. Still, Trevor struggled to learn anything about the man who had saved him. No one would share details of his history, or his family name – hell, he barely knew how tall the man was. Lavinia confirmed she had seen him out during the day, but she was by far the most tight-lipped; she had been taking the laundry to wash on a different route, and saw him pacing the courtyard. She was visibly shaken as she described her encounter. Trevor prickled with rage at the thought of the other man threatening his temporary staff over something as petty as his appearance; Lavinia noticed and assured him Adrian had made no moves against her – it was just her “good Christian sense” that told her to be cautious around the master of the castle. Before Trevor could ask what the hell she meant by that, she had bustled off to some other task.

The first few days, new flowers appeared in the vase by the bed each morning. Was this just another way to passive-aggressively tell Trevor he needed a proper bath? A touch offended – and still put off by the strong floral smell mingled with the acrid odor of the potions and salves around him – he asked the vase to be removed by the afternoon. Without fail, a new crop of blooms appeared alongside whatever fungus tincture he was to take for the day. Again, he would tolerate the (unidentifiable) flowers for several hours, then throw them away. He played this game for a week or so until he got the brilliant idea to discard all but a couple stems. The day of this idea they were sort of purplish, and smelled okay, he supposed. His issue was really the aggressiveness of the smell. Sulfur and brimstone – fine; but nasal assault by way of delicate petals was too much. The hunter was pleasantly surprised to see that the same flowers had remained in the vase, and no new blooms had joined them.

Not long after, Trevor was able to bend his knee and move beyond awkwardly slumping into whatever chair was nearest. He shouted out loud and practically threw himself out the door. His leg still ached, and he was stiff from lack of movement, but he hobbled a few yards down the hall before Amalia found him and bodily ushered him back into the room. She begged him to stay put a little longer – apparently Adrian had warned everyone he would be mobile soon, and he was not allowed to put any weight on his damaged leg, under any circumstance. He gave them all knives, so assured was he that his captive Belmont wouldn’t comply. Trevor scoffed, but kept to his quarters for the rest of the day.

Andrei found him the next morning and offered him a crutch. “If I may be so blunt sir, I thought you would have fashioned some kind of support out of the bedposts by now.”

_Damn, that would have been smart._

“I guess I’m just getting too comfortable laying on my ass,” said Trevor.

Andrei fidgeted and fussed over the crutch, making sure it wasn’t too tall and didn’t rub on Trevor’s arm. “Take your time down there,” he said flatly. He immediately regretted snapping, but impatience was getting the best of him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Andrei grumbled, unfazed by Trevor’s attitude. “You know Master Adrian would have my head if you got bruises.” He stood and Trevor looked at him questioningly.

“Not literally, of course.” Andrei chuckled nervously, like he didn’t quite believe himself. “He’s just a bit, you know, intense. Want to stay on good grounds and all that.”

“Sure, yeah, of course.” Trevor was already focused on the end of the corridor he could see from the doorframe. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to walk in circles around this place until I wear holes in the carpet.”

 

***

That night, Trevor had his first dream since the storm. It was vague and hazy in that way half-remembered dreams always were, but more irritating in the way it seemed to tease him about his ignorance. In it, he was visited by a nameless stranger of dubious intent – but this wasn’t… eventful in the way dreams of this premise typically were. The stranger didn’t _do_ anything, and neither did dream-Trevor. Their face, their whole body for that matter, was soft around the edges, like after rain falls on a freshly tilled field. It felt intentional, not just like his mind was to lazy to think up a face to put in his unsatisfying fantasy.

When he was very young, he had a scattering of dreams in which he was fighting some creature – usually whatever he had been reading about in the bestiary that day – and would suddenly freeze, drop his weapon. The creature would snarl and circle him, and try as he might, he was bound in place by some invisible force. But the dream always played out the same way. Someone or something would manifest around his foe, encapsulating the monster in black smoke until Trevor realized he could move again, fight again. He would turn and ready himself to strike but always, without fail, the faceless stranger, the same figure from his dream last night, would be in the monster’s place.

Obviously, Trevor dismissed any notion of preternatural communication out of hand, then as he did now.

 

Days later, when Adrian made another visit in the night to check on his leg, Trevor decided to broach the subject.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about dream-reading, would you?”

“I’ve told you already, I’m not a goddamn witch! Honestly, Belmont, I would expect more from you – “

“Christ, that wasn’t my point. The past who-knows-how-many days my social circle has been pretty damn limited, I figured you, I dunno, might have some books or whatever.” Whenever Adrian would visit, Trevor attempted to converse, with mixed success. This kind of non sequitur was really nothing new.

“You’re having … dreams?” Concern colored his voice, agitation long gone.

“What, you thought I was asking on behalf of a friend?”

“It’s just – never mind.” The faceless man returned to fussing over Trevor’s leg. He could feel that he wasn’t actually doing anything, just trying to look distracted so he wouldn’t have to keep talking. He said as much.

He could see his host shift to a more upright position as he spat out “Fine. I’ve had a similar experience recently. But seeing as that is my own personal business, I am under no obligation to share any more details with you.”

He set about removing the stitches from fresh scar on Trevor’s leg and said nothing more.

 

 

It went on like this for days, long enough that Trevor tried multiple avenues of questioning to get more information from his host – dream-related or otherwise. Most nights contained similar, eerie dreams, and those that didn’t brought visits from a cagey Adrian. Both were equally uninformative, but not unpleasant. Slowly, he got used to his host’s mannerisms, and found some comfort in the routine of things.

As he returned to strength, his exploration of the castle and grounds became more adventurous, and he had more to share during when they spoke. Eventually, the pretense of his injury was dropped entirely, but the visits continued.

 

***

Against his better judgement, Trevor found himself standing in the great hall of the castle, cursing how stupidly giant the place was. Wandering the labyrinthine halls gave Trevor far too much time to reconsider the choice to get out of bed in the middle of the night and commence with said wandering. He was unsure what exactly compelled him to get up. The weather had finally changed during his time here, the stormy death-throes of winter giving way to green leaves and soft soil. But despite the fact the spring warmth had finally followed Trevor into the valley, the stone interior of the castle remained eerily cool.

 _That’s probably why I’m out here,_ Trevor thought, _not some dream-based compulsion. No, that’s ridiculous._

None of this was helpful in getting back to his room, though. Earlier, he let his mind wander and feet follow, so he had no point of reference for his current location. Was this even the only great hall? His brief glimpses of the castle’s exterior were useless – “sprawling” and “giant” weren’t going to get him back to the safety of his sickbed.

Trevor shivered a bit and pulled his arms in tighter, then began walking again, exiting out the door opposite the lifeless hearth, to what he believed was the outer ring of chambers. He carried no light with him, so there was nothing to cast shifting shadows on the walls, nothing to play tricks on his eyes. Nevertheless, Trevor felt his body was on high alert. _It’s the village-folk getting in your head. They mistook a big hairy pig for a werewolf – there’s nothing to worry about in this place. Just ignorant superstition._

The hunter had made the choice to leave the candles in his room. Though he would absolutely never admit it, there was a tiny part of him that wanted to find Adrian, meet him on Trevor’s own terms. And that same part respected his desire to remain unseen. The rest of the hunter thought this was very stupid, and cursed himself for wandering this eerie maze blind. While Adrian never explicitly forbade him from moving the castle at night, Trevor doubted he would continue to be hospitable if Trevor’s roving was discovered.

 _What the_ hell _was I thinking?_ Trevor closed his eyes in frustration, fed up with stumbling through the dark. When he opened them again, he moved with confidence. Yes, he stumbled and tripped on every bump and cobble, but he let the same voiceless force that got him out of bed in the first place dictate his direction.

 

Without warning, Trevor came back to himself all at once. He reached out to feel the wall – door – before him and stifled a groan as he realized it wasn’t his. He ran his fingers over the surface to feel the long-strap hinges and decorative metalwork; it was distinctly different that the door to the room where he had been staying and those around it. It wasn’t even the same silver – it felt much warmer under his hands. Maybe he in an older area of the castle, somewhere built to be a fortress and not for show, maybe –

As Trevor distracted himself in his musings, his pressure on the door eased it open. Because he was lost, and curious, and an idiot, he figured he might as well see what was inside.

 

He crept carefully forward with his arms out – searching equally for furniture and balance. Within steps, his fingers brushed something at shoulder height, round and of polished wood. A bed-post? Before he had time to consider where he was, someone had gripped both his shoulder with cool, familiar hands.

“Trevor?”

“ _Shit_ ”

“What are you doing here?” Adrian’s voice was soft and sounded genuinely curious, which Trevor took as a good sign. At last he wasn’t going to murdered/kicked out on his ass right at the moment.

“I was … well, I don’t really know. I couldn’t sleep so I took a bit of a stroll, but, uh, I got lost.”

“Why would you – you know, what never mind.” He man paused a moment. He still hadn’t taken his hands from Trevor’s shoulders. In any other context, he would have demanded he let go, but now, it felt like his hands were the only thing grounding him in this dark void. The empty, tortuous walk back to his room seemed unfathomable.

“Can I, um- “

“Sleep here?”

 

When the dawn sun crested over the mountain and fell through the castle’s window, Trevor was back in his sickbed with no memory of the trip back to his room.


	3. Don't Look Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and the tumultuous conclusion

“People are going to wonder where you ran off to,” Adrian mused in a low voice.

“The village probably thinks I’m dead, if they remember me at all. If anything, that their mysterious creature got me.”

Adrian laughed lightly, and Trevor could feel his shoulders shake. “Give them some credit – you wandered off and disappeared in a massive rainstorm. I’ve seen a few search parties skirt the edge of the property, and they’ve yet to discover your waterlogged corpse.”

Trevor rolled over to properly face the other man, even if he couldn’t see him. “Is that a threat? Going to drown me in your moat?”

“We don’t have a moat, idiot.” Trevor could hear the smile on his voice, and allowed himself a grin in response.

 

It wasn’t as though the hunter _intended_ to get into bed with his faceless host; the first time he was genuinely lost, and Adrian refused to let him sleep on the floor, convinced he would freeze to death. The second time, he went to confront him about how exactly the hell he was magicked back into his own room. He got nothing in the way of a real answer, of course, but again was tempted to stay the night on this side of the castle.

Back in the present, Trevor slowly outstretched his arm and placed a hand on Adrian’s shoulder, hoping to convey the sense of safety he felt, and test for any reciprocation of the quiet stirrings of affection he felt. Well, he was aiming for the shoulder. Instead his fingers found purchase in the long, silken hair draped over the man’s neck. Trevor froze, embarrassed.

A blissfully cool hand came to cover Trevor’s own, but Adrian remained silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was unsure in a way Trevor had never heard before.

“You can stay, you know.”

“Well, that’s good. I still have no idea how to navigate back to my room in the dark.” Trevor kept a light tone, afraid of committing himself to his words.

“That’s not what I meant, you dolt.” Adrian laced his fingers through Trevor’s, binding them together in the dark. “I mean, even once your leg is fully healed, don’t feel like you have to, you know…

His voice trailed off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen – um, heard – you at a loss for words before.” Trevor felt the man smile under his hand.

That little part of him that shouted how he should get up and leave right now raised its voice. It was the trained hunter, the skilled killer, the prophesied son that wanted to pinpoint any possible danger before it became an eminent threat. He couldn’t stay here. Maybe tonight, maybe several more nights, but never long-term. Maybe this thing, whatever it was, could grow to be more than the simple comfort of physical proximity. But he could never see this man. Despite their frequent (though chaste) dalliances, Adrian remained resolute in remaining unseen.

Trevor silently pondered his situation and only came back to himself when Adrian removed his hand from his hair and began to sit up.

“I’m … sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Trevor blinked several times as he parsed the man’s reaction. “No, I didn’t mean – fuck –“

“My, my, you do have a way with words, don’t you?” Trevor gave his arm a playful shove and was privately relieved when he felt Adrian recline back down on the bed.

“Shut up. Vulnerability is sort of a new thing for me, I’m trying my best.”

Despite himself, his breath hitched when an arm slid over his waist and pulled him slightly closer. “I know.”

Even through his tunic he could feel the lean muscle of the limb pinning him in place, alarmingly rigid, but gentle, delicate even, the way one might hold a bird they were frightened would escape. Trevor relaxed slightly into the touch.

Before he could think of an apt response, the wave of exhaustion he had been staving off surged forward to envelop him, and he yawned loudly.

“You should get some rest. I overheard Mina saying she ran into some Speakers from the village while she was out gathering firewood. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decide to pay us a visit tomorrow.”

Momentarily more awake, Trevor blurted, “And you’re telling me this now?”

“I wasn’t _planning_ on telling you anything, but then _you_ invaded my bedchamber and started petting my hair, and here we are.”

Trevor groaned.

“It’s nothing to worry about – I think they want to clear their own name more than anything else, avoid being blamed for the disappearance of the valorous Belmont.” Trevor grumbled something unintelligible in response.

“Obviously I can’t be there to welcome them, so I would appreciate it if you would help make them comfortable. Prove you’re still alive, yet to be drowned or devoured by wild beasts.”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll do it.” The promise of a dreamless sleep was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Adrian may have said something in response, but Trevor was far too contented to care.

 

***

Unsurprisingly, a small band of Speakers made their way to the castle the following day. Trevor was snooping around one of the high spires of the castle when through the window he glimpsed a cluster of distinctive blue robes cresting the mountain ridge. He made his was slowly back down the spire, in part due to his slight limp, and to give himself time to prepare for whatever this visit was going to entail.

Trevor didn’t have anything against Speakers, per se. The ambiguity of their knowledge and their power made them targets in the cities they traveled through, but despite this, they continued to move throughout the country as they acquired knowledge and built their histories, which Trevor thought admirable, if a bit futile. Mostly he was unnerved by their presence, the way they always seemed to know just a little more than they let on. That, and the fact they thought he was going to be seduced by a monster. Absurd.

Trevor helped Andrei usher the traveling party into one of the moderately sized halls. All told, there were three older men and a young woman. The elders kept a rather solemn demeanor, nodding politely as they entered the hulking structure, but the woman could barely contain her excitement as her eyes darted around the space, absorbing the lofty ceilings and lush furnishings.

Trevor took a seat along one side of the table and gestured for the visitors to do the same.

“We apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Belmont,” the oldest man spoke in a deep voice. “I’m Elder Belnades, and these are several of my fellow Speakers.”

“I never would have guessed.”

The elder offered a good-natured smile and went on. “My associates and myself came to look into the rumors of your whereabouts, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we are pleased to see you are alive.”

“Surprised?”

The man chuckled. “Not at all. Despite your relative anonymity in the village, we Speakers had no doubts Trevor Belmont would have survived the werewolf – or wild boar.” He winked at Trevor, who only narrowed his eyes.

The young woman piped up from her seat near the end of the table. “We came to deliver a message.” Her cropped hair caught the angled light from the windows above and was lit a coppery red. Idly, Trevor wondered what Adrian’s hair would look like in the sun.

“Sypha, please,” chided the elder. Trevor interrupted before the man could continue.

“Is this about that damn prophecy? Because if it is, then I’m sorry, but you’ve wasted your time coming all the way out here.”

One of the stoic men who had yet to speak shook his head. “Merely a warning.” He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. “Be wary of the keeper of this castle, Belmont. He is not who he appears.”

Trevor rolled his eyes.

“This is serious!” Sypha hissed, indignantly.

“The village gave me an earful before I wound up here. I know all about the ‘ghost’.”

It was Sypha’s turn to roll her eyes. “This isn’t about some stupid ghost. It’s rare that the Speakers’ histories align with the lore of an isolated village like this.”

“I assure you, if there were any monsters in this castle, I would know.”

“Perhaps your instincts are mistaken, young Belmont,” murmured the third elder. Trevor was beginning to lose his patience with this conversation.

“Is there anything else you would like to share?” He tapped his fingers on the dark wood of the table between them.

“We have your best interests at heart,” said Elder Belnades. “We humbly beg you heed this warning and escape before it’s too late.” Trevor remained stone-faced and nodded in curt acknowledgement.

“The sun will be setting soon. If you want to make it over the ridge before dark, you ought to be leaving soon, don’t you think?”

The elders looked between themselves and stood in unison. They moved toward the entryway and Elder Belnades turned to look at Sypha, still seated, who nodded that they go ahead. Amalia guided the men into the kitchen, presumably to supply them with bread and cheese for the return journey, and Sypha leaned across the table to level an icy glare at Trevor.

“Look, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But if someone had information concerning the monstrous nature of someone who held my life in their hands, I would want to know.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Trevor growled.

“All the same,” Sypha paused and rummaged through the folds of her robes until she found what she was looking for. She extracted a small glass flask and pressed it firmly into Trevor’s chest, forcing him to bring his hand up and take it. “It’s better to be safe.”

At that, she stood in a whirl of cornflower blue fabric and joined her party in the kitchen. Trevor looked down at the bottle in his hand – unlabeled, clear liquid. A quick sniff confirmed that this wasn’t alcohol. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that this was holy water, likely swiped from the font in the village church. A slow, sinking feeling began to settle in Trevor’s chest.

Trevor ensured that the Speakers made it safely off the castle’s lands before nightfall. He watched the group make its way down the path in the low, orange light from the atrium, leaning against the bannister of the sweeping staircase. He watched the sky bleed from one color to the next as he turned the precious flask over in his hand.

Of course Trevor had considered the possibility. The man lived on the fringe of society and desired to be faceless; that was worthy of suspicion. But the same could be said of Trevor himself, and he was tragically human. He had never felt truly threatened here, in fact he couldn’t think of a time that he had felt more protected. But why – _why_ could he not look upon the face of his companion? Was he scarred or disfigured in some way? Trevor scoffed at the thought; as if he would care. It was only a matter of time before hard living robbed him of a few fingers, and ear maybe. His leg had clearly seen better days. Perhaps his family name was marred by some darkness of the past? But he knew of the Belmont legacy, old and new. Surely he had to understand that Trevor would be sympathetic.

As he walked through each reason, that ugly worm of doubt wriggled deeper into his mind. Why couldn’t he see Adrian in the light? If the reason was innocuous, it would take a mere flicker of candlelight to dispel that doubt, confirm what he already knew. If it was something else, well –

He glanced down at the flask in his hand, cut glass winking in the last light of the day as if mocking him. Trevor grimaced. If Adrian was damned, so be it – but Trevor knew that he could prove otherwise.

He gripped the bottle tighter, set in his resolve.

 

***

 

The sparse edges of the flickering light cast their glow over the figure in the bed. In stark contrast to Trevor’s first visit, the body remained motionless, utterly unaware of the intruder, having grown accustomed to the practiced footfalls of this particular hunter.

Trevor pushed on the door again, gently easing it further open, and prayed the hinges wouldn’t creak. He only needed a glimpse to be satisfied. A glimpse, and he would disappear down the hall and never speak of tonight. In his right hand he held a wide candle of pale, refined wax. In his left, the flask of water. He worried the glass stopper with his thumb and took another tentative step forward, minding the rug beneath his bare feet.

Another step, then two more. From the bare outline Trevor could make out, Adrian seemed soundly asleep and didn’t stir as he crept closer. The candle only cast full light a foot or so in front of him and shuddered wildly as Trevor’s breath passed over the flame.

Finally, the yellow light glinted off the lustrous wood of the bedpost. Trevor took a deep breath and reassured himself that there was nothing to be afraid of. He had slain terrible creatures tenfold what most people ever imagined. But nothing he had ever seen could possibly have prepared him for the sight upon the bed.

The sleeping figure could only be described as angelic, truly ethereal and otherworldly in its composition. The sputtering candle cast its warmth over the man’s high cheeks and brushed along the curve of his jaw. Trevor marveled at the tiny shadows cast by his long eyelashes where they brushed against the skin. Frozen in sleep, he looked as though he was carved from stone, the ideal form of some long-dead noble immortalized in sculpture atop their tomb, but this was a living, breathing, man. Trevor couldn’t help himself as he leaned slightly closer, attempting to commit as much detail as possible to his memory before he extinguished his candle.

For all the minutes of wonder Trevor spent frozen, enraptured by Adrian’s heavenly visage, it took only a fraction of a second to evaporate like a spiderweb in a flame.

As Trevor leaned forward, he misjudged the distribution of his weight and quickly hopped his left leg forward to catch himself; still clumsy on the fresh limb, he toppled forward and scrambled to catch himself and not fall onto Adrian. Trevor didn’t fall, but at the cost of the flask – as he caught his arm on the bedframe the stopper was knocked free, and the clear, cruel droplets of water scattered through the air and splashed onto the bare shoulder of the sleeping man.

 

The searing sound of holy water hitting damned flesh wasn’t new to Trevor, but out of the muffled quiet of the bedroom it was like a scream. On instinct, he jumped back in the same moment Adrian sprang to life, hissing and howling like a wounded animal. Trevor gasped, completely dropping the empty flask onto the floor with a dead thud.

Adrian’s eyes locked on Trevor before the glass even touched the stone, brutal red over a vicious snarl that framed his teeth in perfect clarity. Trevor didn’t think as he took another half step back – his brain had taken over without his permission, and he gripped the candle in his hand like a lifeline, even as the light it shed continued to catalyze the situation. Face still twisted in a grimace, Adrian clutched his shoulder with a hand tipped in needle-thin claws – the same hand that held Trevor’s only a night before.

The moment dragged on and the vampire seemed to realize where he was – and who he was with. The red leeched away from his eyes, leaving a haunted, golden gaze locked imploringly on Trevor. He wanted to say something – god, he _needed_ to say something – but _what_? How could he possibly verbalize what he was thinking?

Adrian opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. Trevor found himself locked in place as the man rose slowly, backing toward the open window that allowed cool night air into the room. Adrian’s voice was barely audible as he said, “I – I can’t” before flickering out of sight in a movement Trevor’s eyes couldn’t trace.

The rush of air as he fled was enough to finally extinguish the traitorous candle, leaving Trevor utterly alone in the dark.


	4. Prophecy Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an epilogue, of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! The response to the original chapters was just so lovely and so kind, thank y'all so much  
> ...and because some people asked very, very nicely, here's some closure :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

Trevor couldn’t remember much of the last several hours. He knew he left the castle, he knew he wandered aimlessly for a bit, and eventually was found making a slow path back toward the village with a large, brutish, boar’s head dripping from his hand. It felt good to do something, anything, that could be construed as helpful, and the cathartic bloodshed didn’t hurt either. He managed to convince the townsfolk that the snouted trophy he carried was genuinely their “werewolf” by revealing the collection of fabric scraps and odd bits of jewelry that the boar had in its den. Even if it wasn’t as satisfying of a story, he saw the relief on their faces. A broad man took the head from him, hoisting it onto his shoulder and clapping Trevor on the back approvingly. A small, bustling crowd had begun to accumulate, curious. Trevor felt his mind start to get ideas of its own again, thinking about his own idiotic curiosity, _his_ monster, and quickly began to feel sick. He didn’t have time to retch, however, as the mob began to form a sloppy parade toward the town center, the bloody pig’s head leading the way.

 

 

At the moment, he was slumped over a rickety corner table in the Crossed Arms, regretting ever having accepted the stupid holy water in the first place. All around him the townspeople were celebrating, laughing uproariously and getting appropriately very drunk. Trevor lifted his head from the table to his arm and stared blankly at the moving bodies around him. Some men around the bar were taking turns throwing darts into the boar’s head while others shoved around to watch. Trevor sighed brusquely. Even with the considerable number of free beers he had downed since arriving, he was confident he could win their game. But even the prospect of showing off his aim a bit felt dull and distant.

His mind was still trapped in that crystallized moment as water burned skin, and he could only stare dumbly like a fish as his own goddamned idiocy burned down whatever relationship he had built.

The look in Adrian’s eyes was haunting, burned into Trevor’s memory. It wasn’t anger, fear, or disappointment even – just a raw pleading that made the hunter’s heart ache. Such an awful, dead feeling, so out of place as the patrons of the pub bustled oblivious around him.

It was strange, he thought, but it never occurred to him to actually strike the vampire. It wasn’t as though there was any ambiguity to his companion’s physical monstrosity – those teeth and claws weren’t made for dainty nibbles – any and all logic should have compelled him to take action. But he didn’t. He kept waiting for himself to feel revulsion or horror, but it never came. The tenderness he felt, the stirrings of affection he had been slowly kindling over those past weeks just caught fire, burst into hot light all at once and he choked, trapped in his own thoughts.

Someone bumped into his shoulder as they made their way across the room, causing Trevor to spill what was left of his ale down his front. He couldn’t find it in himself to even yell at the bastard, and just sort of grunted angrily.

And hell, what could he possibly do now? No matter what he said, what excuses he gave, Adrian would never truly trust him again. And not because he had violated the one rule he was given in exchange for medicine, and patience, and a warm place to sleep. No, Trevor expected that Adrian knew he would eventually see him in the light. He had razed any trust he could ever hope to maintain by reacting in was must have been Adrian’s perfect nightmare: Trevor had seen nothing but snarling fangs and red eyes, and responded with a tightened grip on his weapon, waiting for the creature to strike. Trevor had taken away Adrian’s chance to show him his nature in increments, under his own terms.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? Trevor _wasn’t_ put off by this reveal, however terrible he felt about the circumstances. In fact, he was rather … enamored with this new information. It slid all the puzzle pieces in Trevor’s head into place and flushed warm air into his kindling heart. His qualms about Adrian, about his air of mystery, were satisfied. The respect he held for the man for dragging his almost-corpse out of the rain and caring for him was massively magnified. Not to mention the fact that the thrill of fear that lit down his spine on first sight of the vampire’s predatory features was coupled with a sparking energy that excited him in an entirely different way.

Trevor leaned back and sighed haplessly, then tried – and failed – to wring out the damp patch on his tunic. It didn’t matter anymore. He should stop moping around and … what? What was he going to do? He’d dug himself this grave, and now that he was standing in it the only person that could help him out believed that Trevor wanted him dead, probably.

He had no idea where Adrian could be right now. He could only see him in that dark room, hand over his mouth in such awful shame, then vanishing like smoke. Trevor was experiencing that unique mixture of anger and sadness where all he wanted to do was scream and yell that this was all just stupid and fucked, but if he even got close to opening his mouth, the lump in his throat would swell and tears would prick at his eyes (traitors) and that rage dissolved into pitiful whimpers.

The noise and smell and movement around him was all becoming a bit too much, and the hunter was able to convince himself that if he could stand up, he could probably walk out the door, and if he could manage that, he could probably walk around the village a bit, and the cool night air would good for his health, or something. It was a start, at least. He tossed some coin on the beaten table and made his exit.

 

***

 

Trevor coughed as the wind blew smoke into his face. As the sun sank below the ridge, Trevor crawled out from under the oilcloth shelter where he had been lurking for the better part of the day. The gusts picked up as the air cooled, toying with the weak fire he managed to construct. He knew he must have looked pitiful as he was now, hunched over a sparse flame, covered in dust not from travel, but from idleness.

The raw edges of his encounter with Adrian had bound Trevor in place. He couldn’t just walk away, but returning to the castle felt more wrong, somehow. Trevor wished some deity would descend from the clouds and present him with a series of nigh-impossible trials as penance for betraying Adrian as he did, but that just wasn’t how the world worked. The Fates made you surprisingly comfortable with the warm emotions you held for a certain vampire, then made sure you irrevocably blew your shot with said vampire. Cruel and unusual, by the books.

Trevor did have some semblance of a plan. He was camped out on the foothills just beyond the castle’s grounds hoping to come up with a better plan. It wasn’t going well. For better or worse, he was a man of action. _Except for when it actually counts_ , he maligned.

He shivered. He didn’t have much food left, so he would have to make a decision soon. He had minimal rations from the village, and small game was nearly nonexistent out here. Trevor supplemented what he had with he could gather without actually approaching the castle. The hunter was confident that Adrian would not be so generous this time around, and he wasn’t ready to face whatever that looked like just yet.

He distractedly prepared his meal. He couldn’t bring any water to boil on his measly fire, so he scrounged around his pack for the last scraps of stale bread. Otherwise, he came up empty. The elements had started taking their toll on his body, he should eat more. Because it was something to do, and something to get his mind off other things, Trevor dedicated the last hours of sunlight to foraging for food that couldn’t run away.

 

He slept deeply, more soundly than he had in months.

 

 

Trevor was thrown into wakefulness with bile in his nostrils and something scratching at the back of his throat. The man rolled away, catching himself on his knees, and heaved. Whatever was left in his stomach splattered violently onto the ground, inciting another round of coughing and vomiting. Trevor felt the edges of his vision start to go spotty and dark, and the ground decide to start moving off to the left when a pair of arms gracefully caught his dead weight.

Trevor was in and out for a while, and after several minutes finally maintained consciousness long enough to find himself positioned against a warm body, sitting with his back against this person’s chest between their outstretched legs. He didn’t even protest – he felt the way an owl pellet looked, jumbled up and half-digested – and the embrace around him was very welcome.

“Honestly, Belmont, we can’t keep meeting like this,” a soft voice hummed near his ear.

Trevor felt his body stiffen as his stomach twisted in knots. He pitched forward and retched again. It was just as shitty an experience as before, only now he knew he was doing it in front of the one person on the face of the planet he wanted to impress.

“You’re right to be disgusted Trevor. I’m sure it was an ugly shock finding out about me…the way you did.” He spoke softly, and the pain in his voice was pitiful.

Trevor sat up slowly and tried to spit out whatever residue was in his mouth. _Who the hell did this guy think he was?_ I _should be the one wallowing in guilt here._

“Shut up,” he grumbled weakly, and pushed himself back to lean up against the man’s chest.

“I – okay,” Adrian ceded. After a brief moment, he reached his arm around Trevor’s shoulders, and held him there.

“You’re warm”

“You’re delusional. And very, very cold.” Trevor could feel the gentle laugh through his ribs, and motes of relief started to enter his mind.

“What happened?” Some feeling was returning to his fingers and toes, and he become aware of orange heat through his eyelids. He finally opened his eyes to the sizable fire crackling before them.

“You poisoned yourself. Though not very well.”

“Huh?”

“Your mushroom dinner?”

Trevor wasn’t even surprised. Foraging based on half-remembered pictures in the near dark was stupid even if you knew what you were doing. “They looked familiar, I thought I was good. Evidently, not the case.” Exasperation colored his voice, even with bodily exhaustion.

It was quiet a while, before Adrian replied. “So this wasn’t on purpose?” He said it like the words had thorns. Suddenly Trevor realized what this might have looked like to someone else. That angry-sad feeling crashed down on him again.

“What? Christ, no!” he sputtered. He needed to make his point more clearly, so attempted to disentangle himself and turned around to face the vampire as quickly as possible. He was still pretty slow, and needed some help to get facing the right way. After the awkward reshuffling, Trevor was sitting with his back to the blissful fire, eyes level with Adrian, wheat-colored irises fully aglow from the flames.

“I can see how this looks honestly god-awful, but I would _never_ …” he trailed off. He gently clapped his hands onto either side of the other man’s head to reinforce his message. “We’ve covered this before: I’m knife-smart, not plant-smart.” He grinned widely, hoping to dispel any doubts the other man may have been haunted by.

Adrian seemed to think a moment, then smiled in return, showing very white teeth and very sharp fangs. “Still not a plant.”

Trevor laughed, a full, hearty laugh at how ridiculous their predicament was, only getting louder when Adrian joined in. The dimensions of his face were so articulately cast in the wide fire-light. He wasn’t the sleeping angel or the feral beast Trevor stumbled upon in the bedchamber. This was the man that found him and took him in from the dark and the damp – a warm smile under a predator’s eyes. This was the man who offered him safety and companionship freely – an extended hand framed with razor claws. This was the man who spoke so confidently, yet so vulnerably, that Trevor had tried to be a better person – silver tongue and, well, you get the picture.

Trevor leaned forward to rest his head on the man’s shoulder and was quickly locked into a hug firm enough to be uncomfortable. He seemed to judge his strength after a pause and loosened the embrace, then moved one hand to run slowly through the hair just behind Trevor’s ear. He continued to trace his nails softly across Trevor’s scalp as he spoke.

“What are you thinking right now?”

“That stupid prophecy isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

 

 


End file.
